


open water

by kaithartic (bluedreaming), leftimpromptu (bluedreaming)



Category: EXO (Band), SM the Ballad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/kaithartic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/leftimpromptu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boarding school for the first time and Jinho has no idea what to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	open water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cairistiona13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cairistiona13/gifts).



> The title is from the song [Open Water](https://youtu.be/I002onHNfuY) from the Cracks soundtrack.

Jinho sighs, running fingers through his messy brown hair. It's the start of term and he's just gotten the notice that his roommate has suddenly withdrawn from school before even arriving; it's understandable, some kind of family issue but dammit he'd been looking forward to getting to meet Cho Kyuhyun—he sounded really interesting over messenger and now he's facing the reality of being thrown in with a random new roommate he knows nothing about.

 _God, this sucks,_ he thinks, sighing fitfully and shrugging his rucksack higher up on his shoulder from where it's slipping. _Maybe they'll just have me in a room alone?_ The thought is wistful, and highly unlikely, not here at Ravenscourt, where the unofficial motto seems to be, not _FIAT LUX_ as it says on the plaque on the limestone wall of the Great Hall, but rather _stiff upper lip_ or conversely, as Kyuhyun had mentioned in passing, "don't ask and we won't tell".

Jinho runs the phrase over in his head as he checks his phone again for the email with his room number assignment. _69_ , he laughs, what a crass joke. The phrase Kyuhyun mentioned doesn't seem to mesh with the other motto though; of course the official one is complete rubbish but _stiff upper lip_ sounds more like an archaic war-time thing, while "don't ask and we won't tell" makes him think more of Gossip Girl than anything else. Not that he knows anything about Gossip Girl though, God no. He has better things to do with his time.

It was a fleeting thought though, when his mother brought up the idea of him transferring to Ravenscourt for second year, and his first thought was of all the typical all-boys school rumours, not that Ravenscourt wasn't co-ed, because it was, but from the brochure it seemed more the type of co-ed where the faculty had decided that, rather than leave the boys to their own devices, they'd take the only girls in the vicinity and lock them away in the girls' dormitories. Of course it probably wasn't like that, Jinho had shaken his head, disabusing himself of the idea at once and laughing at himself. But he couldn't get rid of the persistent ideas he had about boarding school, and his year one mates hadn't helped either, making digs about "what goes on in the boys' dormitories" and "brojobs" to which Jinho had only sniffed and eyed Minho with an expression that had him shutting up. Everyone knew what Minho did in the boys locker room after practise, after all, and no ruler could have gotten within ten metres of that.

Jinho sighs again, running his glance over the numbers on the doors along the hallway. There's no use thinking about his school friends back at home; judging by Facebook and Twitter they're not worrying themselves over him too much either, besides a smattering of good wishes and Minho sending a message asking if there are any "hot blokes" as if Jinho has had time to meet anyone yet.

It's strange, transferring to a new school in second year; he doesn't really belong with the first years in their starry-eyed troupe of wonder, but neither is he one of the seasoned Ravenscourt veterans either, "corvs" as he's heard the term bantered around, which he presumes is short for "corvus corvax" or something equally snooty. Jinho sighs again, _this is getting really repetitive_ , and locates his room. The hallway is silent; the first years are all on the first floor under the direct eye of the Hall Warden and the rest of the students won't be arriving until at least tomorrow; classes only begin on Monday but the Headmaster had recommended that Jinho arrive with the first years and his mother, _confound her_ , had been only too happy to agree.

He loves his mother, he really does, but her new job is crazy and he kind of wishes. . .but nevermind. Jinho checks his phone again for the keycode and thumbs in the four digit number. It beeps, a kind of discordant melody as the lock disengages and the door swings open.

His first thought it that his roommate hasn't arrived yet, not that he should have expected anything else really, but it's still strange, moving into a room that's clearly meant for two, amidst the echoing silence of an empty floor. There's a small stack of emails from Kyuhyun in his archive, and none of it is relevant anymore. Jinho shakes his head and steps through the doorway, pulling the suitcase behind him.

 

 

He wakes in the morning to the sound of clatter, and someone swearing— _what _?__ Jinho thinks, disoriented as he rubs his eyes and fumbles free of the sheets in which he’s somehow become tangled. It’s not his bedroom, when he opens his eyes, the familiar mobile of model planes no longer casting shadows against the ivory walls, spitfire affectionately crumpled by a run-in with a croquet mallet. There’s a mop of sandy curls instead, and Jinho blinks.

The intruder blinks back, a slow smile spreading across his face. For some reason, Jinho thinks of lazy summer mornings, butter on toast, melting onto his fingers. He smiles back, sleep-tousled, a warm feeling spreading through his belly.

“Hi,” the intruder says, running a dusty hand over his face, smudging dust over his cheek. “I’m Chanyeol.”

“My roommate?” Jinho asks, rather unnecessarily as he drags himself upright, legs still tangled in the sheets. After all, there’s a mess of valises and boxes scattered around Chanyeol’s feet, and as he smiles, stepping forwards towards, he suddenly trips into an open trunk to the sound of a discordant clatter, the contents displaced as he lands with a pained, “oof.”

He surfaces, still grinning even as he winces, smile a little lopsided but no less brilliant.

“Are you okay?” Jinho finds himself asking, struggling out of bed until he’s peering at his roommate. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the clock on the wall. ___Six A.M.___

“I’ve alive,” Chanyeol grins, as though such a laissez-faire assessment of his personal well-being is supposed to reassuring. Contrary to expectations, Jinho finds that it is.

“I’m Jinho,” he says, stretched out a hand which Chanyeol grasps firmly, using it as leverage to pull himself up, the contents of the trunk clattering again. Chanyeol’s hand is warm, his skin slightly dry. Jinho can feel, faintly across his fingers, the pulse of Chanyeol’s heart.

He freezes for a moment, hesitates, breath skittering over his lips.

“It’s ridiculously early,” Chanyeol says, not seeming to notice the flush barely dusting the tops of Jinho’s cheeks, or perhaps, conversely, he’s sparing him the embarrassment of calling attention to it. “Let’s get some coffee.”

His fingers wrap around Jinho’s hand, instead of letting go, as he pulls him excitedly out the door and down the hallway to the dining hall. Jinho feels like he’s being pulled along by a large golden retriever, but it’s a good feeling. He smiles, a private smile for only himself, and follows along down the empty hallways bordered by rooms waiting to be filled.

 

 

Chanyeol turns out to a bit of an acquired taste, but maybe that’s just boarding school in general, Jinho supposes. Classes aren’t much harder than at his old school, and the girls are less cloistered to protect their virtue or some patriarchal nonsense like that and more, Jinho suspects, to protect the male population of the school. It doesn’t take more than seeing Jinri take down a fourth year year in the hallway, someone easily twice her size, for Jinho to realize this state of affairs.

As Chanyeol explains, shrugging unconcerned as Jinho follows him down the hall, neck craning to see Jinri rejoining her group of friends, bumping shoulders with Jieun who flashes her a grin, “Jinri looks like a muffin but can kill you, and if you take her food, she will kill you.” The groaning mess of fourth year on the floor of the hallway seems to corroborate the evidence.

Jinho finds himself falling in with Chanyeol’s friends instead, Sungyeol who never seems to stop drinking coffee, Kyungsoo who’s appearance and murderous proclivities appear to fall hand in hand with Jinri’s baby-faced killer aesthetic, Henry who plays the violin like an electric guitar.

“How’s the scenery?” Minho comments on his status update, pajama party in the dorms and Jinho doesn’t even regret yawning through history class, eyes drooping shut as Chanyeol keeps kicking him the ankle. The bruise turns green before it finally fades.

“Molehills,” Jinho taps back to be facetious, but it’s more that he doesn’t know what to say. Chanyeol, towel slung around his neck as he emerges in a cloud of steam from their bathroom, is definitely not a molehill, but Jinho’s not sure how to navigate this strange terrain of boarding school and roommates and the jokes that get bantered around beneath the tables in the dining hall, Baekhyun sporting a massive purple hickey on the side of his neck, swaying his hips with a grin.

“The cat finally got the cream,” Sunyoung says from the far side of the hall, and everyone laughs. Jinho’s not sure who’s the cat and who’s the cream.

 

 

It’s not that Chanyeol is exactly oblivious either; he’d have to be thicker than the brick wall at the bottom of the football pitch—bordering across the road, the one they always seem to kick the ball at but never manage to clear—to miss the way Jinho finds himself staring at him, sometimes, before he catches himself and glances away.

Maybe it’s a game. But if so, he doesn’t know the rules, and he’s not sure if Chanyeol is even playing, though they are in all the same classes, take meals at the same time along with everyone else, and sleep only metres away from each other, so if Chanyeol’s not playing with Jinho, at least he’s most likely not playing with anyone else. The thought, unsurprisingly, is hardly comforting.

He doesn’t even know which team Chanyeol plays for, or if he plays at all, though the latter being negative is unlikely. Chanyeol doesn’t seem uninterested just. . .unengaged. With Jinho.

“Hmm,” Kyungsoo says, one morning at breakfast, looking up from his textbook, the clang of a metal spoon hitting the porcelain bottom of an empty porridge bowl. Jinho is confused, Kyungsoo doesn’t explain, Chanyeol wraps an arm around Jinho’s shoulders—or, more accurately, his neck—and drags them off to class, Jinho struggling to keep his jumper from riding up over his shirt, white cotton vest peeking out from beneath the by-now crumpled fabric.

“Slow down,” he protests, but Chanyeol keeps walking, and Jinho doesn’t really mind a few wrinkles; it’s a fair trade for this much prolonged contact.

He wonders what Minho would say, and he doesn’t care.

When Chanyeol steps out the their shared bathroom after supper, towel slung over his shoulders as usual, only beads of water dripping down the rest of his skin, Jinho doesn’t pretend to be busy with his books or phone or, illogically, smoothing the wrinkles on his pillowcase. He looks up, and meets Chanyeol’s questioning gaze.

Yes, he replies—tipping his head to one side, from where he sits on his bed, tangled sheets leftover from whenever he last made his bed. Probably never, but what mom doesn’t know doesn’t count—and hopes that he’s answering the right question.

And when Chanyeol lets the towel slide off his shoulders, wet feet leaving circles of damp on the wood as he crosses the space between their beds and sides onto the crumpled sheet between Jinho’s legs, he knows he’s won.

Chanyeol’s mouth tastes clean, and his skin is soft, smelling faintly of soap as he pulls Jinho down on top of him, damp curls spilling over the pillow. The skin in the hollow of his neck is slick with a post of missed soap, and Jinho laughs, sound muffled in Chanyeol’s collarbones. Late afternoon sunlight is spilling through the window, and for some reason the school motto runs through his head again.

 _FIAT LUX_  


 

 

↭

 

 

"Fuck, you're terrible at this aren't you?" Chanyeol sputters, nudging Jinho’s head with his thigh, but the amusement in his tone is palpable.

Jinho props himself up on his elbow, swiping his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. "Well, your cock is just too bloody big so excuse me." He punctuates his complaint, tongue sticking out of his mouth, but he can’t resist darting another lick over Chanyeol’s foreskin, just to see him shiver.

"Most people seem to like that," Chanyeol says, when he catches his breath.

"Well I'm not most people and if you don't like it then you can kindly go fuck yourself in the toilet,” Jinho says, turning over, face to the wall. “I'm tired, and I have lessons in the morning. Good night."

He doesn’t really mean it, and soon enough Chanyeol is squirming over him, nesting into Jinho’s arms, even though he doesn’t really fit and the sheets are all entangled by the time they sort out their limbs, but Jinho wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s waist and rests his cheek against the thin cotton of Chanyeol’s pajamas, breathing warm air softly over his back, because Chanyeol prefers being the little spoon in their equation, boarding school and shared beds and Jinho wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Good night,” he says again, a soft whisper delivered directly to Chanyeol’s back, and Chanyeol’s fingers curl around Jinho’s hands as he whispers it back in the warm dark.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [awalkinthe_park](http://awalkinthe-park.livejournal.com) and posted [here](http://awalkinthe-park.livejournal.com/1872.html).


End file.
